


Goddamn Nightmares

by Wicked42



Series: Dadvid in Denver AU [2]
Category: Camp Camp (Web Series)
Genre: David won't hang up the phone, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Gwen and David have a midnight Coffee Talk, HEAVY SPOILERS FOR SEVEN FUCKING VOICEMAILS, Max grumpily goes back to bed, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 17:00:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15778296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wicked42/pseuds/Wicked42
Summary: Gwen has a nightmare, and her first instinct is to call David.Set four weeks BEFORE the epilogue of Seven Fucking Voicemails. HEAVY SPOILERS for Seven Fucking Voicemails.





	Goddamn Nightmares

Gwen awoke with a gasp, jackknifing upright. Sweat poured down her face, her hair matted and hot, her heart pounding so fast it seemed to shake her in time with her blinding fear. _Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum._

_He’s here. He’s here. He’s here._

Her eyes settled on the closed—locked—bedroom door. Swept the room, illuminated with a nightlight she definitely stole from Max. It wasn’t enough. Choking on a sob, her fingers fumbled for the lamp.

She misjudged distance, and it slid off her dresser, crashing to the ground. The bulb shattered, pieces strewn all over her thin carpet. Gwen yelped. Cold fear washed over her, even though she _knew_ that was her fault.

But it didn’t stop her imagination from replacing the lamp with a potted plant, crashing to the ground. Vivid in her mind as Daniel brushed off the cactus pinpricks, raised that jagged knife, smiling.

Advancing.

“O-Oh god.” It was too dark. He was lurking right outside, just waiting for another shot at her. The barely-healed wounds on her left shoulder throbbed as she snatched her phone. David’s number was on speed dial, but she still had to jab it a few times before the glass registered her trembling fingertip.

Every ring felt like Daniel’s knife, sinking into her heart.

David picked up on the fourth one, right when Gwen was sure she’d die. Her heart was beating too fast, her head spinning in pain and fear, and even though nothing had moved in her bedroom, she felt like she wasn’t alone.

So when he mumbled, “Gwen? ‘s everything okay?” she couldn’t reply. If she whispered something, _he’d_ hear, and then he’d claw down the door. Gouge marks on the outside. One well-placed kick and it’d come crashing in.

And she’d have to fight him again.

She’d have to kill him again.

David sounded more alert now. “Gwen. Say something. Gwen?”

Jesus, this must sound like a horror movie to him. A mysterious midnight phone call, no verbal reply, just quick, quiet gasps as she stifled her sobs.

Why couldn’t she say anything?

“Gwen! Do you need help? Are you safe?” David was nearly shouting in the phone now. Why did Denver have to be so fucking far away? “Wait a second, stay on the line. I’m going to run next door and borrow the Grants’ phone to call 911—”

 _Jesus Christ,_ say _something, damn it!_

“D-David,” she managed to whisper. _Keep going. He’s still panicking, and that’s your own goddamn fault, you asshole. Why did you bother calling him at all?_ Sick with fear and anxiety and self-loathing, she forced out two more words. “I’m okay.”

He went quiet for a few minutes. If she steadied her own breathing, she could hear him hundreds of miles away, throwing back his covers. Listening to David was far more preferable than listening to her own frantic heartbeat, so she strained to hear everything he said and did.

“What’s wrong, Gwen?” he asked, softly now.

“N-Nightmare,” she choked. _Just a nightmare. Just a fucking nightmare. And you both have work tomorrow, so why are you annoying him at all?_ She clenched her eyes shut against the anger of her own mind. Somehow, it was even worse than Daniel. “Sorry. I—I shouldn’t have called.”

“Gwen, no—” David was interrupted by a door crashing open.

Max’s irate voice snapped, “Jesus, David. What the hell are you yelling about? It’s 3am, you moron.” The sound was muffled through David’s receiver, but Gwen still flinched at the tone.

 _Now you’ve woken up Max, you shit._ She sunk deeper into her mattress.

“Max,” David’s voice was uncharacteristically sharp. “Go back to bed. This doesn’t concern you.”

“Feels like it concerns me when you start screaming in the middle of the fucking night,” Max muttered. Gwen barely heard that reply, but it still brought a weak chuckle to her lips. She gripped the phone as her heartbeat slowed, as the night terrors faded. She shouldn’t have called, but—but they were keeping her sane right now.

Then David put a hand over the receiver, and she couldn’t hear what he replied to Max. Panic swelled, threatening to once again swallow her whole. The shadows were getting longer. Oh god.

“David?” she asked, trembling. God, it was so uncharacteristic, sitting here paralyzed in fear. Usually she was paralyzed by anxiety or uncertainty, not… not this PTSD shit.

But immediately, he was back. “I’m here, Gwen. Don’t worry. I’m staying up until you feel better, okay?”

“Max—?”

“He went back to bed.” David sounded a little exasperated. “He wasn’t happy about it.”

“He’s never happy,” Gwen laughed, loud enough for David to hear this time. But he released a tiny sigh, like he was relieved to hear something other than hysterical sobbing.

“Hang on. Answer this,” David said, and then her phone started ringing again.

She flinched, but it was just David facetiming her. She almost rejected it—Jesus, she must look like shit—but had a sudden bout of paranoia that it might hang up the entire phone call. Once that thought crossed her mind, she couldn’t accept fast enough.

David’s face filled the tiny screen. His red hair was tousled— _adorable_ —and there were slight bags under his eyes— _wonder why, asshole_ —but overall he seemed bright and cheery as always. He was so familiar, so welcoming. How she’d gone four months without him blew her mind.

Her hands were still shaking slightly, so she braced the phone against her knee. “H-Hi,” she said, swallowing past the lump in her throat. “Sorry again—"

“Gwen. It’s okay. You know I’m always happy to talk to you.” He searched her face, and his brows knitted in sympathy. Even though the nightlight didn’t offer much in ways of illumination, he could probably see the tear tracks on her cheeks, the red rimming her eyes.

It made her want to hang up, to deal with this like a proper goddamn adult: alone.

But he didn’t give her the chance. “Can you do something for me?”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She’d do anything for David.

“Can you turn on a light? Light makes everything better.”

“I—I broke the lamp,” she whispered. His eyebrows shot up, and she hastened to clarify. “A-Accidentally.”

“Oh,” he tilted his head. He was sitting upright in bed, just as she’d expected, but his room was bright and cheery and she’d have given anything to be sitting beside him, in that apartment where her two boys lived.

Even if it was the same apartment where she’d—killed—Daniel—

Fresh tears pricked her eyes, and she shuddered violently.

“Okay, okay,” David snapped his fingers to regain her attention. “Let’s try something else. How about making some tea? Tea makes everything better.”

“I thought l-light made—”

“Light and tea,” he nodded sagely.

Her eyes settled on the bedroom door. She’d only been back in Indiana a week, but these nightmares were a frequent occurrence. None quite so bad as tonight, but she had a system before she went to bed now, which started with locking the bedroom door and ended with positioning her half-sized bookshelf under the doorknob.

“Gwen?” David asked. “Getting out of your bedroom will help distance you from the nightmare. Can you do that?”

She drew a shaky breath, but he was right. “Yeah. Okay… hang on.” Getting out of bed took more mental preparation than she expected, as if Daniel was lurking underneath, ready to grab her ankle the second her foot touched the floor. Her knuckles darkened around the cell phone, and with a gasp, she leapt over the broken shards of lightbulb, landing beside the bookshelf.

It took both hands to drag it out of the way, but she was well-practiced with the motion now. Every few seconds, she glanced over her shoulder, certain a shadow would be looming over her with a jagged knife. Her shoulder throbbed, but no one was there.

“Ah, Gwen? Not to pry, but—are you moving furniture?” David asked from atop the bookshelf.

She grunted, fear coiling in her gut as the bookshelf slid back into its normal spot. Leaving the door totally unbarricaded, leaving whoever was inside her apartment fully ready to barge in and murder her.

Oh, god.

_Jesus, Stephani. Focus. David’s nice enough to stay up with you, but you have to keep talking or he’s going to hang up._

She clenched her eyes shut against the demons in her mind and picked up the phone again. David’s imploring green eyes gave her something to focus on. “I barricade the door at night,” she admitted quietly.

“Oh, Gwen,” he whispered.

She didn’t have anything to say to that. He was in Denver, with a job and a life and a kid. She was in Carmel, four states away. Alone. Just like she’d wanted. Her mother was two hours away, so she’d thought Indiana would be the safest bet after college. Family close, but not smothering.

Now she wanted smothering. But her mother wasn’t the family she craved.

“It’s okay. I’m going to stay with you the whole time, all right? Just go to your kitchen, and I’ll walk you through the rest.” David’s voice was soft, soothing, and it gave her the strength to nod, to unlock the door and turn the knob and crack it.

Of course, the hallway was silent and empty. Gwen glanced over her shoulder one more time, then fumbled for the light switch within arm’s reach of her bedroom. The bathroom was across the hall, and as light flooded the space, she squinted in there first. But there was no one hiding behind the shower curtain, no one crouched beside the toilet.

No one in her apartment.

She swallowed, padding down the hall, turning on every light she could find. When the apartment was blazing, she actually did feel better. Slowly, the panic edged from her mind, the darkness edged from her soul.

Slowly, reality solidified.

Daniel was dead. He wasn’t in the apartment, targeting Max and David. He wasn’t raising a knife at her. He couldn’t ever hurt her again.

Unless ghosts existed. Then she was fucked.

Gwen laughed a bit, the sound watery and broken, and David smiled. “There, now. I know light always makes me feel better when I can’t sleep.”

“Yeah. So… so tea, then?”

“Chamomile is very relaxing,” David replied. The bags under his eyes seemed more pronounced, but he propped a pillow on his bed and settled into it, awake for the long haul just like he promised. “I left a box in your pantry the last time I was there. Should be next to the honey.”

She peeked into the pantry, and sure enough, the box was right where he said. Which was damn impressive, considering he hadn’t been in her apartment for close to six months. He’d visited, she’d fallen for him, he’d stood her up, and she ended the friendship. But for some reason, she hadn’t bothered to throw away his stupid tea.

And even after all that time, he still remembered where he put it.

Gratitude swelled in her heart as she picked up the box. Her smile wobbled, and she said, “T-Thanks, David. This is really nice.”

“Tastes even better,” David said, cheerfully. He was still keeping his voice low, undoubtedly for Max’s sake, but his tone was as obvious as the smile on his face. “It’s a rare occasion you don’t go for the coffee. I’m excited you get to try it!”

She probably _should_ drink coffee. No way she was going to bed again after that nightmare. But he looked so goddamn happy that she dutifully followed his instructions to heat the water—160 degrees, he said, as she rolled her eyes and pulled out a meat thermometer—and poured it into her #2 Counselor mug.

“Steep it for three minutes,” David added. “It’s a common misconception with tea that the longer you steep it, the stronger it gets. But actually, if you leave the teabag in too long, it just makes it more bitter. And no one likes bitter tea.” He wrinkled his nose.

She laughed and said, “Jesus, you’re such a dork.”

He winked. “Bitter tea is no joke, Gwen.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She turned the iPhone camera around to show him the timer she was setting, and he nodded in approval. Exactly three minutes later, she had a steaming cup of chamomile tea. She mixed in some honey, far more than he recommended, and carried the mug to her comfy armchair, the one piece of furniture she actually loved. It had a big cozy throw over it—crocheted by her mom—and a table beside with her favorite book and a cute little thrift-shop lamp. Now she settled in and took a sip.

“It’s good,” she said, mildly amused.

“Well, that’s mostly honey,” he joked. “But I’m glad it helps. Tea always makes me feel better. You’re not shaking anymore, are you?”

She wasn’t. It kind of took her by surprise, the distance the nightmare had from her mind now. The terrifying moments in bed seemed decades away. “No. I’m… I’m okay.” She shook her head, absently rubbing her left shoulder.

His eyes tracked the movement, and he frowned. “Are your wounds hurting? Maybe you should have stayed in Denver a few more weeks. Since Doctor Smith knows what happened, he’s the ideal choice to monitor recovery—”

“David. I’m okay.” Doctor Smith had cleared her to fly a week ago, and as comfortable as living at David’s had been, her new boss couldn’t wait forever for her to show up for work. The nights made her wish she was back in Denver, but—the days were fine.

Everything was fine.

She ran a finger along the rim of her mug, avoiding his gaze. “It’s just… hard. Hard to be in an apartment, alone. Hard to think about—about Daniel.”

He was silent for a long time. When he spoke, it was carefully, as if he was considering every word. “I know anything I say is going to sound hollow. I know that it’s going to take time, and you may never get over what happened. But… Gwen, you saved our lives.”

That was true. She _knew_ it was true. There was no alternate path; Daniel would have killed Max, Gwen, _and_ David if she didn’t intervene. And if he’d survived his wounds, she’d be spending the rest of her goddamn life in perpetual fear that he’d break free from prison or be released on good behavior and come back after them.

She’d _never_ be able to relax. And David and Max wouldn’t either.

But that didn’t stop the memories, of sinking a knife into human flesh, of warm blood spilling over her hand, of her feet slipping on the linoleum as he turned on her and advanced, jagged blade raised, glinting.

Gwen clenched her eyes shut.

David released a breath, sounding miserable. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you were put in that position. I’m sorry I was too _stupid_ to realize what Campbell was doing.”

She opened her eyes to see tears welling in his. For the first time, it occurred to her that the self-loathing she constantly felt might be mirrored in his own psyche.

That maybe he hated himself too.

It made her unbelievably sad. “David, no. There—you couldn’t have done anything to prevent what happened. You know that, right?” She wanted to say, _you’re the victim here_ , but the words would ring true if he reversed the statement. And that wasn’t anything she didn’t already know.

“I just… I wish it hadn’t happened at all,” David said.

“Me too.” She fell silent, taking another sip of her tea. It was cooling now, but the taste was sweet and comforting. After a moment, she thought of the other person present that night. “Does Max ever have nightmares?”

David pursed his lips. “Sometimes. But I’m not sure if Daniel was the scariest thing in his life.” His expression looked as angry and sad as she felt. “He’s… quiet… about his nightmares. He told me once that his parents used to scream at him if he woke them up, so he learned to handle them on his own.”

“Oh, no,” Gwen’s heart ached.

David’s face was pinched now. “I’m trying not to color his perception of his old life, or his parents. But, Gwen, I _hate_ them.”

“That’s because they’re fucking assholes,” she replied, and the venom in her voice surprised even her. David was admirable for keeping his opinions of Max’s parents to himself, to her, but she wasn’t so inclined. They’d fucked up Max’s life, and she hoped they burned in hell. Or prison. Whatever.

David drew a breath, eyes flicking to his closed bedroom door. “Well, I think I’m going to have a discussion about nightmares. I didn’t realize they were so bad. If he’s getting them too, we definitely need to talk about it.”

“He’s going to _love_ that,” Gwen drawled, a wry smile tilting her lips. Then she took another sip of tea and swallowed. “Ah, if you want, I can talk to him. Kindred spirits, and all that shit.” She averted her gaze, as if admitting weakness made her, well, weak.

But David just beamed. “Actually, that might be better. I think he’s getting sick of all my lectures.”

“Well, you’re a dad now. He’d better get used to it,” Gwen smirked.

David’s cheeks colored red, but a fond smile played on his lips.

Soft light was peeking through the blinds now. Gwen hadn’t even realized so much time had gone by, but her alarm would be going off in a few hours anyway. She set her empty mug on the table and stretched. “This was nice, David.”

“I’m glad it helped.”

It did. Talking to him had a way of centering her mind, soothing her soul. Despite the lost sleep, she felt calm, the cold sweat and violent trembling merely a ghost of a memory. She hesitated, then said, “I am sorry I woke you. I hope you won’t be too tired today.”

“Well, they’re not clearing me for work for another week,” David looked disappointed. “If that guy had stabbed my _left_ leg, I could have already been driving. But it is what it is.”

Gwen rolled her eyes. “Take the break. You deserve it.”

“I’m getting antsy,” he laughed.

“That’s only because you’re not chasing after a dozen kids.”

“Camp is only a month away,” David said, brightly. A playful gleam settled in his eyes, and he lowered his voice conspiratorially. “And you know what else is a month away? Max’s birthday. I pulled it from his paperwork. Gwen, I’m so excited!”

“Oooh,” Gwen smirked. “Are we throwing a party?”

David looked positively thrilled. “Absolutely! Can you get the days off?”

“Whether I have to call out sick or not, I’ll be there,” she promised.

“Great!” he cleared his throat, lowering his voice. “We’ll plan later. I think I hear Max getting up. Can’t spoil the fun.”

“Well, I have to shower anyway. Clean up the _glass shards_ in my bedroom,” Gwen rolled her eyes. But she caught David one last time, and smiled, pouring all the gratitude in her heart into her voice. “David. Really. Thank you.”

“Call me any time, Gwen,” he replied warmly.

And as the light filtered through the blinds, and David smiled from a thousand miles away, Gwen’s apartment didn’t seem so scary anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> This one had to be done. I mean, I should have done it before Jealousy, buuuut that one pestered me. :P Still, Gwen does NOT get off without a hitch after stabbing Daniel. And neither does Max, poor baby. T.T 
> 
> I might do a companion to this one, set several months in the future, as they become more of a family unit and David teaches her more coping skills. :D We'll see!! In the mean time, I grabbed a prompt on Tumblr, so keep an eye out for that one next! 
> 
> [ALSO DID I MENTION I TUMBLR NOW??](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/wicked-42) Dude. This is seriously impressive. My sister literally had to get me set up because I'm such a fucking moron when it comes to this mysteriously amazing website. So if you like me even a little, go be friends with me there? (... is that a thing? Be friends with? I NEED FRIENDS.)


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